


Breaking Status Quo or  How to Ruin a Perfectly Good Friendship in Five Steps or Less

by Raina_at



Series: Hiatus [1]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: First Time, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:54:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22403728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raina_at/pseuds/Raina_at
Summary: Jensen visits Jared in San Antonio.
Relationships: Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki
Series: Hiatus [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1612366
Comments: 6
Kudos: 94





	Breaking Status Quo or  How to Ruin a Perfectly Good Friendship in Five Steps or Less

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this between Season 1 and 2 of Supernatural, and I totally forgot it when I did my SPNRPS ficdump a while back, so here goes.

Summers in Texas are made for long nights. During the day it's too hot to even think about anything more strenuous than lifting a glass of iced sweet tea to his mouth, but at night… well, at night, Texas in June is fucking perfect. 

All in all, Jensen thinks, hiatus can't possibly be overrated. It's 11 pm, and he doesn't have anywhere to be and anything to do tomorrow except sleep until noon and lounge around, sipping cold beers from Jared's fridge. Jared's house is small and homey and perfectly air-conditioned, it's got a PlayStation 2, a DVD player and a small fridge right next to the living room couch, and Jensen thinks it's as close to perfect as it can get. 

If it's got one disadvantage it’s that Jensen's already way too comfortable here. He planned to stay overnight, or two days at most, but he's been here a week, and Jared won't even let him mention going back to LA, or Dallas. Not that Jensen wants to go, which is exactly the problem. Jensen doesn't want to go, ever, and that's exactly why he should go as soon as humanly possible.

But Jared is being so- well, Jared. Every time Jensen thinks of talking about how he should leave, Jared comes up with the perfect thing to do, and Jensen is, apparently, a sucker for self-punishment, so he stays and lets himself be lulled into having altogether too much fun.

When he got up this morning, he resolved to pack today, catch the early morning respite from the heat, drive to Dallas to see his folks, and then maybe fly to LA from there, but when they got up around eleven, Jared made them brunch and mentioned something about Chad and how he kicked Chad's ass at the Foozball table, and Jensen just had to deflate Jared's ego by wiping the floor with him down in Jared's way too cool basement with its pool and Foozball tables and arcade games. Afterwards they were sweaty and hot so they jumped into the pool, and just when Jensen thought that Jared was tired enough to allow him to mention leaving, Jared said something about barbecued ribs for dinner. Of course life is cruel and mean, and while Jensen loves ribs, having to watch Jared lick his fingers over the course of an entire meal was enough to cement firmly why Jensen should leave tomorrow, but unfortunately Jensen mentioned something about Baseball, and here they are.

“Batter up!" Jared yells mockingly, and Jensen focuses. He touches the bat to the base and lowers his head to concentrate. Then he nods and raises his eyes. Jared pitches a curve ball to Jensen's bad side - the fucker knows him too well - but he's not as good a pitcher as Jensen is a batter, and the bat connects with the ball with a very satisfying sound, veering off to the right, and Jensen estimates it's a nice second base run.

Jared nods appreciatively. “Good one." He picks up another ball and weighs it, then looks at Jensen. “See if you can hit yourself home."

Jensen smiles. God, Jared is such a dork. Who else would've dragged Jensen out here in the middle of the night, to kind of break into Jared's old school's baseball diamond, floodlights and all? Of course Jared called the principal before he did it - called him by his first name, which kind of freaked Jensen out - and of course Jared got what he wanted. Jared always gets what he wants. Hell, Jensen should know, Jared’s always been able to get whatever he wanted from Jensen just by looking and asking. Unfortunately Jared doesn't ask enough of Jensen, at least not the things Jensen would like to give.

Jared readies himself to pitch, and Jensen watches as his t-shirt rides up, glad that they're not playing touch football. “God, this is so stupid," he whispers to himself but can't help grinning when Jared pitches, and Jensen hits a pretty solid left fielder that'd give him the runs he needs easily.

Jared grins. “1-0. Ladies and Gentlemen, now batting for Dallas, Jensen Ackles!" He mimics the cheering crowd, and Jensen smiles, even as something inside his guts wants to go die.

For nine months of shooting it's impossible to get away from Jared. Like it or not, Jensen has to see him every goddamned day, be close to him every goddamned day. And now, when he could be putting some distance between himself and this really kind of embarrassingly huge crush he has on Jared, he can't get the fuck away from Jared. And he realizes that it's not just being here, it's getting drunk in sports bars in New York, catching games and movies and dinner together in LA, and missing seeing Jared every goddamned day so much he'd just had to call him up the other day and ask, hey, man, how's it going, and Jared answering, I'm bored, come down to San Antone for a bit of R&R, and Jensen taking the next damned flight.

Jared's grinning and pitching and Jensen misses because he can't help thinking about how the fuck he's going to get over this dorkily grinning jerk of a guy, who calls his fucking High School principal in the middle of the damned night, just because Jensen said he misses playing baseball on a real diamond, floodlights and all. Who just keeps doing the right things and saying the right things to make Jensen even more helplessly besotted with him than he was the day before. Who has this perfect little girlfriend Jensen could cheerfully strangle, because she's nice and sweet and entirely too likeable. Who, if this continues unchecked, will just break and break and break Jensen's heart over and over again without even being aware of doing it, without wanting or trying, which really is a kick in the teeth all by itself. 

He only realizes he's staring dumbly into nothingness when Jared snaps his fingers in front of Jensen's face and says his name in this twangy, questioning, worrying way, and fuck it if that doesn't get Jensen's whole-body attention every single time. 

Jared looks at him questioningly. “You all right?"

Jensen nods and shakes himself. This isn't the time for angsting. This is a time to have fun with his friend. “Just thinking about how I'm kicking your ass," he says and hands the bat over to Jared. 

They play amicably for a while. Jared's a much better hitter than Jensen and Jensen is a way better pitcher than Jared and so things get a bit more competitive. When Jared hits a home run, he runs, touches all the bases, laughing and pointing at Jensen, making the universal ‘You suck, I rule' sign, and Jensen has to laugh, thinking about when they shot Hell House, and how they had to do the beer scene seventeen times, because the damned string Jared was supposed to pull at the end of the scene broke every single time, and, to keep the mood light, Jensen and Jared told each other every dirty joke they knew. The crew was in stitches by the end of the day. 

They joke and call each other out the way they usually do, but in the third ‘inning' Jensen hits a spectacular homerun and Jared high-fives him and gives him an one-armed hug that would've crushed a lighter man's ribs, but which makes Jensen feel like the king of the whole damned fucking earth.

They're both sweaty and smiling when they head home, and Jared can't shut up about the Yankee TV Show League idea they've been tossing around. Neither Jensen nor Jared ever played competitive baseball, but they both like the game and are sufficiently good as to seriously consider talking Eric and Bobby into challenging the guys from Smallville to a game. 

“Imagine handing Tommy and Mike their asses regularly," Jared says, grinning, as he pulls his truck into the driveway. 

Jensen grins blissfully. “Yeah. Not that we don't do that anyway."

Jared laughs. “True."

They break out the beer and chat about who'd play which position on the Supernatural team, and how much they'd rock, and then Jared yawns hugely and smiles good night at Jensen, murmuring something about hitting a bar tomorrow night. Jensen doesn't mention Los Angeles.

*-*

He wakes up with the dogs in his bed and Jared's voice on the phone in the distance.

Sadie licks his hand and he smiles at her, drowsy. Sadie loves Jensen. Both dogs do, though why is a mystery to Jensen. He's not much of a dog person. He's really kind of an anti-dog person, but he's very much a Jared-person, and the dogs come with the package. So Jensen figures that he and the dogs share a priority, which is Jared's comfort, safety and attention. Plus, neither of the dogs has ever warmed to Sandy, which in Jensen's eyes makes them fucking brilliant. 

It finally registers with him that Jared's conversation can't be a particularly pleasant one; Jensen can pick out without having to see Jared that he's annoyed on the verge of angry. 

He pulls on a t-shirt over the boxers he sleeps in and makes his way to the kitchen with Sadie trailing on his heels. 

The coffee is still hot and Jensen pours himself a cup. The kitchen and living room are open plan, so Jensen can't help listening to Jared's side of the conversation. 

“Okay, then call me when you've thought about it," Jared says, and from his voice alone Jensen can tell that he's pissy. “Bye."

For a moment, there's silence. Then Sadie barks, and Jared steps into the kitchen. He smiles at Jensen wearily. “Mornin'."

“Mornin'." Jensen gestures towards the general direction Jared just came from. “Didn't mean to pry or anythin'."

Jared makes a dismissive gesture. “Nah, it's all right. Sure I’m not the only one who's arguing with his girlfriend over where to spend the weekend."

Jensen raises an eyebrow. “She coming here?"

“Nope," Jared says, shaking his head and stepping over to the coffee machine. He pours himself a second cup and leans against the kitchen counter. “She wants me to come to LA."

Jensen isn't sure whether to be relieved to have a way to bring up leaving or disappointed that he'll most likely be kicked out so Jared can have some alone time with his girl. “So when are you going?"

Jared smirks humourlessly. “I'm not. I don't want to go to LA. Besides," he adds, and his smile turns more genuine, “I've got company."

For a moment, Jensen is torn which opportunity to seize. But then he answers automatically, the way any good friend would. “Aw, come on, it's all right to kick me out to spend some time with your girl." It comes out more sincere than Jensen means it. 

Jared is quiet for a moment. “I'm not ditching you, Jensen."

The tone in Jared's voice makes Jensen's stomach cramp. It's low and serious and goes right into Jensen's dick. The way he says it, like even the notion is insulting. The subtle emphasis, as if Jared's saying ‘Anybody else, maybe, but you, no way.'

Heady. Especially since the statement implies that Sandy suggested a similar thing. Well, figures. Sandy is suspicious of Jensen. He's known that for some time. Sandy's not blind, and she kind of picked up on the fact that whenever possible, Jensen's all over Jared. She's given him ‘back off' signs before. But she's not here and Jensen is. 

There's a small, rational voice inside Jensen's brain that lists all the reasons why he should just talk Jared into going to LA. a) Jensen could leave guilt-free b) Jensen could find a tall pretty boy to fuck to get rid of the antsy feeling in his dick, c) it'd classify as being a good friend, trying to patch things up between Jared and Sandy.  
“Maybe I should just…" Jensen says, then trails off with a vague gesture in the general direction of the front door.

Jared looks Jensen right in the eye, and for a second Jensen feels like a glass Jensen on whose back somebody wrote ‘Jensen likes Jared, sitting in a tree' in red lipstick, and Jared can see right through him and read all that and much, much more. Jared though is frighteningly solid, and Jensen sees nothing. Jared smiles, just the tiniest bit. “Do you want to leave?"

And before his brain can kick in, his guts spill out with the truth. “No."

Jared smiles, big and warm. “Good."

And that's that for now.

*-*

Jensen’s t-shirt sticks to his back in a way that probably makes it impossible to remove it other than surgically. The bar’s almost unbearably hot, and who the hell doesn’t have air condition in this part of Texas? But Jensen doesn’t complain, for three reasons. One, the beer is cold and plentiful, two, the music is just the right mix of dirty country rock and hard rock of what Jared calls the ‘Dean’ variety, and three, Jared’s shirt looks more like a second skin and his hair is most becomingly mussed, so at least Jensen’s got a nice view while almost dying of heat stroke. 

Plus, if he’s entirely honest with himself, he’s having too much fun to honestly contemplate complaining. The bar’s got everything a man needs, a pool table, a dart board, a big-ass TV showing football, a barkeeper called Bobby, who’s known Jared long enough to still call him ‘JT’ – meaning they get their beers before anyone else – and best of all a totally ridiculous mechanical bull that’s already thrown both of them on their asses. Normally Jensen wouldn’t be caught dead on that thing, but after a few beers and with Jared’s arm around his shoulders, laughing into his ear while calling him balless and unworthy of calling himself a Texan, Jensen climbed on. And fuck Jared and his laughter and his cell phone camera, but riding that bull was fun. Not as much fun as Jared’s face when Jensen stayed on the bull longer than him, and not as much fun as threatening grievous bodily harm, if Jared did anything at all with the four really embarrassing pictures he took of Jensen on it. Altogether the sore spot on his ass was definitely worth it.

It’s Thursday and already past midnight, and the bar’s slowly quieting down. They’re playing a companionable game of pool, enjoying the relative quiet after laughing at each other and yelling at the TV over the game. Neither of them says much, and that’s perfectly all right with Jensen. His eyes are burning from the smoke, and he wishes he’d gone with glasses tonight instead of contacts. The pleasant beer buzz doesn’t interfere with his game yet, and he can feel Jared’s eyes on him, fuzzy and unfocused when he looks up to meet them. Jared’s leaning against his cue as if he needs something to hold him up, and he smiles at Jensen absently, gesturing at the table.

“Your turn,” he says in a voice that’s a bit rough with wear. 

He reminds Jensen of late nights on set, after a long day of take after take after take, all blurry around the edges and quiet, accommodating himself easily in Jensen’s space, normally all words and eager to fill it, but at times like these he seems to need Jensen’s comfortable silence, and Jensen’s more than happy to oblige.

Wordlessly, he assesses the situation on the table. Jared’s getting better at pool; he must be tired of getting his ass handed to him all the time by Jensen and Mike. All dexterity, J-boy, Mike would say and smirk. And either of them would take a shot at speculating why Mike’s so good with his hands. A normal day in Vancouver. Jensen’s glad that they’re alone here. Mike and Tommy are all right guys, but male posturing can get pretty exhausting at times. And not that he can’t and doesn’t play ‘who’s got the bigger balls’ with Jared, but point is he doesn’t have to. He can just let himself be, well, himself. And thank God Jared’s learned to shut up sometimes.

He takes up the cue once he’s decided on the shot. “4-ball in the corner,” he says, lines the shot and does it perfectly. 

Jared nods appreciatively while Jensen does three successive perfect shots, smiling. Jensen smiles back automatically and does the internationally recognised ‘one point for me’ air score. Jared gestures good-naturedly at the table. 

“Show-off.” Jensen thinks that Jared’s trying for an exasperated tone, but he lands smack in the middle of affectionate, all soft vowels and Texas lilt. His voice scrapes down Jensen’s spine like the best kind of massage, and his back tingles where he can feel Jared’s eyes on him. He’s aware of the shirt sticking to his back and Jared’s hand between his shoulder blades, suddenly there, clapping him on the back for a good game and lingering on his damp shirt for just a moment too long.

Jensen ruthlessly steps on the impulse to turn and look at Jared, see his eyes, gauge the expression there, indulge in one more futile fantasy. Jared doesn’t mean anything by it when he does things like that. When he fists hands in Jensen’s shirt or touches Jensen’s thigh or hugs him all enthusiastically, pressing Jensen to his body, all contact, not like most guys. Jared’s just like that with people. Well, not that Jensen’s seen Jared do this to anybody but him, but that doesn’t mean he _means_ anything by it other than genuine friendly affection. Which, most of the time, is enough. Except when it isn’t and the absence of _more_ is almost physically painful. Like right now, it almost hurts thinking about Jared’s warm hand sliding down the damp skin of Jensen’s back, coming to rest on the small of his back, pressing into his skin possessively. 

_I should get out of here,_ Jensen thinks. 

Predictably Jensen misses his next shot spectacularly enough to knock over his beer, which spills all over Jared’s pants. Jensen apologises and Jared waves him away with a grin, rescuing his cell and wallet, pressing them into Jensen’s hands. 

“I’ll just go freshen up,” he says, all grin. “No more beer for you,” he adds over his shoulder, already on his way to the bathroom.

No more beer, Jensen repeats to himself, nodding. He’s getting altogether too… vulnerable. 

He puts down Jared’s wallet and cell and thinks about settling their tab so they can leave when Jared gets back. Jensen’s tired and hot, and he’s had too much to drink and too much fun. The walls he’s built between Jared his (really, really good) friend and Jared the guy he’s having all kinds of X-rated fantasies about are dangerously thin and worn, and more than anything Jensen’s afraid of what would happen if those walls were down. 

Just as Jensen wants to step to the bar, Jared’s cell starts to vibrate. Automatically Jensen looks at the phone, sees the small green letters spell ‘Sandy’.

Jensen smirks at the cell phone. _Thanks for the perspective, Universe,_ he thinks and goes to pay their tab.

*-*

It’s only later in the cab that Jensen realizes Jared hasn’t called Sandy back. 

“Dude, forgot to tell you, your cell rang before.”

Jared doesn’t react immediately. He stares out of the window like he’s lost something out there. Then he shrugs. “I noticed.”

There’s something in Jared’s voice that tells Jensen to put the conversation on the ground and back away slowly, and so Jensen does just that.

They stumble more than get out of the cab, and the cool night air hits Jensen like a caress. He sighs in relief and follows Jared through the dark house out back to the pool, dogs trailing after them and between them.

Jensen detours to grab two beers from the kitchen fridge, then joins Jared outside. Jared’s sitting by the pool, legs crossed, Sadie’s head in his lap, staring into the water absentmindedly. He hasn’t turned on any lights, so Jensen’s pretty much reduced to moonlight to see by, which is plenty to make out Jared’s smile when Jensen hands him a beer.

The water splashes lightly, and the stone tiles of the pool area are still warm from the sun. Jensen takes off his shoes and his sweat-soaked shirt and sits down next to Jared, lets his feet hang into the pool.

For a while they just sit there and enjoy the cool night air, sipping their beers, their only music in the quiet the small snores coming from Sadie, who fell asleep pretty much the moment her head hit Jared’s thigh. They’re sitting close enough that Jensen can feel the heat from Jared’s body when Jared moves. It’s one of the moments Jensen lives for, slow and quiet and peaceful. He closes his eyes and knows Jared wouldn’t push him away if he leaned in just a bit to rest his head on Jared’s shoulder. But if he did that, he’d be able to smell Jared, sweat and beer and that clean, male scent he knows as Jared’s, and that’s just in no way a good idea. 

Minutes pass, or maybe hours, and Jensen feels Jared shift under Sadie’s weight, brushing against Jensen. It’s harmless and stupid, but Jensen feels he’s got to say something or he’ll just explode with silence.

“So what’s up with you and Sandy?” 

The words are unreasonably loud after the long silence. Jensen thinks he can see Jared flinch ever so lightly. 

Jared shrugs, a hunched half-gesture that makes him look about sixteen years old. “I don’t know, man. It’s just…”

Jensen takes a sip of his beer. “Just what?” he prompts. It’s perverse, and he’s setting himself up for a major smackdown from Jared, but a part of him just wants to know, has to know, even if it’s just going to hurt.

That shrug again. Jensen suppresses the urge to put a protective arm around Jared’s shoulders.

“Don’t get me wrong, Sandy’s… she’s great, and she’s put up with a lot of crap from me, but…” Jared makes a vague roundabout gesture. “She’s been so tense about everythin’ lately. She doesn’t like Vancouver, she doesn’t like the show, she doesn’t like my friends, she doesn’t like this place.”

“Why?” Jensen tries to keep his voice neutral. What he really wants to do is say things like, ‘She doesn’t deserve you’, and ‘You should be with somebody who appreciates that all that’s a part of you’ by which of course Jensen means ‘Forget about her and pick me me me me me me me me me me.’

Jared sighs and leans back, resting his hands behind him on the stone tiles. “Who knows why? I don’t think she knows why. I think she doesn’t like any of it because it’s not what she’d pick for me, you know?”

Jensen nods his understanding. Jared doesn’t seem to notice; he just stares into half-distance and continues talking. It’s like uncorking a champagne bottle, once the cork is out it just overflows until the pressure is gone. 

“She doesn’t like coming here, and I don’t like being in LA if I don’t have to. She yells at my dogs, Jensen. I mean, seriously, who does that?” Jared’s voice is slightly incredulous, and Jensen smiles in spite of himself. 

“And to add insult to injury,” Jared says, turning his head to half-smile at Jensen, “sorry to tell you, man, but she really hates you.”

Jensen shrugs to cover the small tremble that goes through him at the way Jared smiles at him, warm and intimate. “No offence, Jared, but I’m friends with you, not her. Honestly, I’m not gonna lose any sleep ‘cause your girl doesn’t like me. You like me; that’s good enough for me,” he answers, congratulating himself for managing to sound all casual. 

“I like you,” Jared says, and it comes out softer, more serious than the situation entirely warrants. 

Jensen looks over at Jared, who’s watching Jensen’s feet splashing in the water, and he looks all boyish and incredibly young. Suddenly there’s a warm pool of… something in Jensen’s stomach that wasn’t there just a second ago. He takes a sip of his beer and notices that his hands are shaking ever so lightly. Fortunately Jared doesn’t seem to notice at all.

“It’s getting late,” Jensen murmurs.

Jared nods. “Yeah,” he almost whispers, still looking at Jensen’s feet in the water. 

“I’m gonna head to bed,” Jensen says, and Jared just nods. 

Jensen gets up and goes inside with a murmured, “Good night.”

Jared doesn’t look up, doesn’t turn when Jensen goes into the house, doesn’t look over his shoulder all the time Jensen stands by the door to watch him sitting out there in the moonlight, absently patting Sadie’s head in his lap while Jensen ponders endlessly over the stupidity of hope. 

He goes to bed and doesn’t think of leaving.

*-*

Next morning Jensen feels more hungover than is entirely justified by the six beers he had. The window is open and he can already feel the heat of the day looming just outside. He looks at the alarm clock at the bedside table. It's 11 am, and so quiet he can hear the crickets chirping in the yard. 

Something about the silence is off. He should at least hear the dogs, or Jared rummaging around in the kitchen. 

Scratching the several mosquito bites he got last night from sitting by the pool, he gets up to go looking for Jared. 

There's tomato juice and a plate of by now cold waffles in the kitchen, and the coffee pot is still on. Jensen downs the tomato juice in one big gulp and puts the waffles into the microwave, a habit Jared calls disgusting. Jensen actually prefers waffles that way though, a bit tough, like old shoes. He gets a cup of coffee, then drenches the waffles in maple syrup, the kind Jared brought from Vancouver, because let's face it, there's no beating the Canadians at maple syrup. 

The dogs are nowhere in sight. Neither is Jared. Jensen takes his plate and his coffee and pads into the living room. No Jared. Maybe he's out with the dogs. He sits down at the big, solid oak dining table and eats breakfast, flipping through the channels on Jared's big-ass TV. Re-runs of Gilmore Girls make him grin, then laugh out loud at Jared's hairstyle back in Season 1. 

He adjusts his glasses and absently wonders what it'd have been like to know Jared back then. Fresh from Texas, young and naïve, before Hollywood, before Alexis, before PR and movies and Sandy and the whole fucking deal of a celebrity lifestyle. Jensen wonders whether they'd have gotten along this well, then thinks of himself back then, and figures probably not. Jensen wouldn't have appreciated Jared's pranky sense of humour back then, wouldn't have liked Jared's accent because it brings out Jensen's own, wouldn't have liked Jared's basically still pretty naïve attitude towards fame, fortune and everything that goes with it. For Jared, it's all a big joyride, an adventure. Jared neither expects anything great nor seems to actively strive for it. He just takes what he can get with a genuine joy that Jensen would've called fake back then. Now he's been in the game long enough to recognize fake, and knows that Jared's about as far away from it as possible for somebody who pretends to be someone else for a living.

On the other hand, who knows? Maybe if Jensen had met Jared in 2003, on some WB cast party, maybe they'd have hit it off, and maybe Jensen would've had the balls to actually hit on Jared without the Damocles sword of a TV show and a really great friendship to wreck. 

Or maybe Jensen's just full of it and should concentrate on here, now, and hauling ass the fuck out of here before he makes a complete idiot of himself.

He turns off the TV on Jared's smiling face and, once again, the house is filled with an almost tangible summer quiet, sunlight and a heat that makes even the air too lazy to move. The air conditioner is off, and the heat's like a blanket all over Jensen's skin. He feels strange in this heat-saturated quiet, lonely somehow. He wonders whether Jared's taken off and left Jensen here, and Jensen just hasn't found the note yet or hasn't checked his voicemail. 

There's a soft whine, and a small thump. Jensen gets up from the table to investigate. Another whine and a sound he can now place as Harley snoring lead him to Jared's bedroom. The door is ajar, and Jensen debates with himself, his respect for Jared's privacy arguing with the lonely knot in his guts - and just how pathetic is he anyway - and before he's even finished the first set of arguments in his head, his hand is already pushing open the door. Just a peek, he tells himself.

Jared's bedroom is large and sunny, all warm wood and warm colours. There's a couch and a desk by the window, and judging from the blinking mouse and flashing screensaver, Jensen guesses that the laptop on the desk is running. The central piece of the room is without a doubt the bed; it's huge and looks about as comfortable as heaven. Jared's half-sitting against the headboard, dressed only in a pair of shorts, a book open on his naked chest, his stomach rising and falling softly. It's obvious that he's fast asleep. Harley and Sadie are stretched out on either side of Jared, both equally asleep. Jared's running shoes lie around as if he just kicked them off, and the cup of coffee by the laptop looks to be almost empty. Absently, Jensen wonders when Jared got up this morning. 

He moves before he's aware of it, enters the room slowly, quietly, helplessly drawn to Jared's sleeping form spread out on the bed. Christ, he's pretty. Tanned skin and muscles, surely as good, as warm to touch as they look. Jensen's eyes roam freely, guiltily over his sleeping friend's body, his limbs seeming even longer in repose, his features softer and younger. Jensen reaches out a hand, but pulls back before he touches Jared's hair, damp with sweat and probably a shower. Get a grip, he thinks, you'd think you've never touched the guy before.  
But all he can think of is his lips against Jared's stomach, resting his head on the smooth skin and muscle there, smell and taste the sweat there. 

Jensen smirks humourlessly at himself. Ok, yeah, Jensen Ackles, sign out here, you're a goner. 

He turns away, has to turn away, look somewhere else, think of something else, anything. He  
checks out Jared's bookshelves, which take up most of the wall next to the desk and apparently hold every variety of book from X-Men comics to J.D. Salinger.

Unbidden, Jensen’s brain flashes back to the first time they met. Jared sitting on the floor, pages for the read-through on his lap, a pencil in his hand, faded jeans and an old leather jacket over a pretty boring blue shirt, all smiles and Texas vowels and genuinely pleased to meet Jensen. And even though something in his gut immediately jumped up and liked Jared, Jensen thought he might be kind of an idiot, especially when he started to make bad jokes the moment Jensen sat down next to him. But during the read-through, Jared and Eric started talking about Kerouac and the importance of space in the American mythological landscape, and Jensen had to revise his opinion of Jared's IQ by about sixty points. 

He turns around and looks back to the bed, his mind flipping through memories of Jared - dorky Jared, tired Jared, pissed off Jared, Jared with Sandy - Jared smiling at Jensen, Jared hanging out with Jensen, watching sports with Jensen, and no, there isn't any moment he remembers as the one he fell, just a slip-sliding downward spiral of working and playing and hanging out and seeing each other at their best and worst and everything in between - and Jensen's trying to figure out where the exit was he should have taken off the highway from vague attraction to really fucking crushing on the guy to the point where he doesn't think primarily about sex when he sees him lying there this obscenely, innocently fuckable. 

This is such a bad idea. The worst idea ever. He could be somewhere, anywhere now, up to his neck in willing slutty fangirls or boys, hanging out with friends he isn't insanely attracted to, and yet here he is, and if he's honest with himself, the last thing he wants is being anywhere else, truth is he wants to be in that bed, ideally plastered to Jared's body in some way or another, his hands on soft skin and his nose buried in Jared's neck. And who knows, maybe if he wasn't scared stiff, all this might be his for the asking, but he knows if Jared says no, or worse, if he says yes to the wrong things, Jensen won't be able to forgive him. And on top of everything else, Jensen wants to keep liking Jared, wants to keep him as his friend.

He suppresses a frustrated groan and grabs Jared's laptop from the desk to take it into the living room. Over the rest of his waffles, he checks his email, which contains an obscenely long one from the Supernatural scheduling assistant about their trip to Europe and the first tentative shooting schedule for July. 

Groaning, he sips his coffee. Hiatus will be over sooner than he'd anticipated. They'll leave for Europe next week already, and after that, it's back to Vancouver. Which gives him exactly one month to get distance, perspective and lots of anonymous sex with strangers.

He's busy checking out flights to LA when Jared pads into the living room, all sleep-mussed like a big puppy. He smiles at Jensen. "What time is it?"

Jensen points at the windows. "Time to turn on the A/C, I'm almost done baking in here."

Jared shrugs. "You know how the A/C works," he answers nonchalantly, but goes to the controls and turns it on. A blissful blast of cool air settles over Jensen and he immediately feels far less on edge. Damned Vancouver has made him soft against the heat. 

Jared pads into the kitchen and comes back with a sixpack. "Hey, how about lunch?"

Jensen wants to say no, wants to say he's got to pack because there's a flight to LA tonight and Jensen wants to be on it, but Jared holds up the beer, a pizza menu and all six Star Wars episodes on DVD, and really what better way is there to spend an afternoon.

*-*

“Man, JarJar sucks," Jared munches around a mouthful of popcorn.

Jensen nods. “Like a hoover."

„I mean, Padme's annoying as well, but at least she's hot."

“Are you blind, man? She's tiny and scrawny, and she's got the hots for Darth Vader," Jensen says, grabbing a slice of pizza. “Hand me a beer, will you?"

Jared shrugs. “Well, I'd hit that anytime."

Rolling his eyes, Jensen gestures at the screen. “Oh, come on. Tell me you'd not rather have Leia every day of the week and twice on Sunday? We're supposed to buy that Leia's her daughter? Riiiight."

“Of course I'd rather have Leia; who wouldn't?" Jared answers, then takes a giant bite of the slice of pizza in his hand, continuing to talk around it, “And look at the two of us, you're supposed to be my brother, and you're way tinier than I am. Not to mention far less pretty."

“Shut up and hand me that beer," Jensen says, smiling.

*-*

“Dude, you realize that if you're Han Solo, and I'm Luke, then Jeff is Obi-Wan, right?" Jared says, pointing at Obi-Wan fighting with Jango Fett on the screen.

“Your point?" Jensen asks, fighting a smile.

“You guys get all the good lines."

Jensen laughs. “Yeah, but that's why you're first billed, remember?"

Jared as ever ignores any sensible argument and gestures at the screen. “Obi-Wan just said Master about a million times. Aren't you glad we didn't do the drinking game after all? I think I'd have alcohol poisoning by now."

“You always were a lightweight, Padalecki. Much to learn you have, youngling," Jensen Yodas.

Jared gestures at the bar, never one to let a challenge just sit there. “I could still get the Tequila, man."

Jensen's eyes linger a bit too long on the strip of tanned skin he can see where Jared’s shirt has ridden up. “Just watch the damned movie."

Jared's actually quiet for about five minutes. 

„Did you get that email from Cindy?"

Jensen nods. “Yeah. Think they're trying to kill us, or do you think they're just rating sleep as something for lesser mortals?"

Laughing, Jared shrugs. “Dunno, maybe both? Anyway, you check out the hotel we're staying at in London? Really nice. Better than the dump they stuck us in for House of Wax."

“Didn't stay at the Hilton for that one, big movie star?" Jensen asks with a grin.

„Please, Paris's too cheap to spring for her own drinks, let alone anything else." Jared's tone's more amused than contemptuous, and once more Jensen asks himself how Jared always ends up liking practically everybody. 

“So Teen People was right, you bought Paris a drink?" Jensen asks with exaggerated fannish glee.

Jared hits Jensen on the back of the head, obviously trying not to smile. “Shut up, my favourite scene's coming up."

Jensen grins and turns his attention to the TV and Mace Windu. “I think we can all agree that Mace Windu's a bad motherfucker, at least."

*-*

“Dude, your phone's been ringing every five minutes since Anakin killed Dooko, and Anakin's almost Darth Vader, so could you just answer it?" Jensen manages to keep his tone on the friendly side of annoyed, but seriously, Jared's ring tone is driving him crazy. 

Jared picks up his cell from the couch table and just watches it ring and ring and ring, and the expression on his face makes Jensen wish he'd shut up. It finally stops ringing and Jared switches it off, throws it back on the table without another word.

Jensen keeps his mouth shut and turns back to watching Anakin go over to the Dark Side, but his mind goes in circles from this morning to Jared's knee against his thigh to the blinking caller ID reading ‘Sandy'.

*-*

Halfway through A New Hope, Jensen realizes that Jared's been looking at him funny for the entire Millennium Falcon escape from Death Star sequence. When he looks over to meet Jared's eyes the casual question about whether there's something on his face dies in his throat at the look in Jared's eyes. Calculating. Speculating. Sizing Jensen up for what he's worth. 

Jensen turns back to the TV. “You ever figure that, if the Impala's supposed to be the Millennium Falcon of TV, that one of us has to be Chewbacca?" He's proud of the fact that his voice sounds way steadier than he feels, and the pointed gesture at Jared's mop of hair is just the right amount of annoyingly condescending.

Jared flips Jensen off affectionately without even bothering to comment, but the look in his eyes heats up, and Jensen's feeling like a giant hand is busily squeezing his guts.

Jensen can feel Jared's eyes on him throughout the entire battle of Yavin, and Jensen notices his heart beating faster, and his breathing getting irregular. He feels vaguely like a teenager when he looks over and away again as soon as he meets Jared's eyes. It's as if Jared's trying to read something off his skin, and hasn't quite figured out what the words mean yet. Jensen thanks every deity listening again that they didn't do the drinking game. If they had, there's no way he wouldn't spell it all out for Jared now, preferably with his tongue on Jared's skin.

The thing is, the thing that makes Jensen slightly dizzy and just a bit nauseous, that makes him pretty sure the sweat on his skin isn't from the slowly fading heat of another perfect Texas night - the thing is, Jensen's not sure that Jared would say no tonight. 

The credits run, and for a moment, neither of them moves. Jensen looks over at Jared, who's still staring at Jensen like he's forgotten the movie's even on. 

Jensen nods at the TV. "Your valet gonna change that DVD for us?"

And just like that, Jensen can _see_ Jared snap out of it. He smiles sheepishly and gets up, and Jensen's glad for Jared's back to him because Jensen's stomach needs a second to decide whether to come down on the side of relief or disappointment. 

"You wanna watch Empire or go to bed?" Jared asks, already taking out the DVD.

Jensen scoffs. "You kidding, right? Empire is the best of the whole damned series."

Jared smiles. "Always knew you had good taste."

And Jensen's stomach comes down firmly on disappointed.

*-*

Jared's fast asleep by the time Luke lands on Dagobah. Jensen doesn't move for a long time, just watches Jared sleep, his thigh pressed against Jensen's. He reaches for the remote and turns off the DVD, but Jared stirs and murmurs, "I'm watchin'," which Jensen finds ridiculously endearing, so he leaves the movie on, and Jared falls back asleep. 

Jensen gets up from the couch and powers up the laptop to buy a one-way ticket to Los Angeles at 11.30 am tomorrow.

He goes to bed, deliberately not thinking about how he totally had the chance to get into the pants of one of the hottest guys in the history of mankind and didn't do a thing, and he can practically hear Han Solo calling him a pussy as he slips over to sleep.

*-*

Darkness and warmth surround Jensen when he wakes, slowly, slides out of deep sleep into a fuzzy awareness. It takes him a moment to figure out where he is. Jared's house, Jared's guest bedroom, Jared's dog a solid weight on his feet.

He pulls his legs out from under Harley, who doesn't so much as wake up, he just whines and kicks in Jensen's general direction. Getting out of bed is difficult, his left leg is pretty numb - Harley's even heavier than he looks, and that's saying something - and he can hardly keep his eyes open. He stumbles down the corridor to the bathroom and blindly goes inside to piss.

He's halfway back to asleep again when he steps out of the bathroom, but he notices light coming from the living room. Obviously Jared's still asleep in front of the TV. Sighing, Jensen changes direction and almost tiptoes towards the living room to switch off the TV. The last thing he wants now is to wake up Jared.

The living room is bathed in a cool blue light from the TV; otherwise it's entirely dark. Jared's on the couch, a thin blanket twisted around his lower legs. One side of his body is in shadow, the other illuminated soft blue. His boxers are somewhere around his knees, and he has one hand wrapped around his cock, stroking slowly, sensuously. 

Jensen freezes as his brain catches up to what his eyes are trying to tell him, but his thoughts have already slowed down to heated molasses. _Jesus Christ,_ is all his brain can come up with. 

Jared's eyes are closed, his mouth slightly open. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and his breath hitches almost at the same time as Jensen's. 

Desire hits Jensen like a fist, has him instantly hard, his heart is going a mile a minute, and breathing has become extraordinarily difficult. The very air in the room seems heated up, thick, difficult to get into his lungs, and Jensen imagines that he can smell Jared, salty-sweat and sweetly tinged arousal. It takes every ounce of willpower for Jensen not to actually whimper, but even though he knows he's overstepping some serious bounds here, he can't move, can't tear his eyes away from Jared, can't even blink.

Muscles ripple in Jared's arm, his belly hitches with every arousal-heavy breath, and Jensen feels his hands shaking with wanting to touch, to twist, to glide over smooth, moist flesh, follow the path Jared's hand takes, stroking himself. Jensen can imagine how Jared would feel in his hand, hard and soft and heavy and perfect, he can imagine being the one to put that look on Jared's face, this relaxed, abandoned, pleasure-tense look, and he knows he won't be able to move, before he sees Jared come, before he knows what kind of sounds Jared will make, what he will look like. If he can't have anything else, he'll have this to feed his fantasies at least. 

Greedily, Jensen traces the lines of Jared's body with his eyes, perfect, chiselled muscles outlined in harsh shadows and blue light, smooth skin gleaming with a fine sheen of sweat. In his mind Jensen licks away every drop of sweat, every inch of Jared's skin, imagining what he'd taste like, salty and spicy and male. 

Jared's lips part, an almost inaudible moan escaping him, and Jensen's knees nearly buckle, weak with unchecked, unabashed lust. Dear god he wants that, all of that, now. Any port in a storm, he'll take his own hand, but he can't even move, he's nailed in place, transfixed by Jared, unable to look away from his hands. Jared’s huge, long-fingered, powerful, and yet gentle, expressive hands. Jared likes it slow and rough, apparently, and every time his thumb swipes over the ridge of his cock he bites his lips, which alone is hot enough that Jensen thinks he might come right here in his boxers when Jared does. 

His breath is going way too fast and sounds unnaturally loud to his own ears, but Jared doesn't seem to notice, he's entirely oblivious to his surroundings, exists entirely in his own skin, and Jensen wants to claw him open and crawl inside there, to know what it's like to be this open, this unprotected and yet this safe, this untouchable. Jensen's not sure he could reach Jared if he tried, and God knows he wants to. His fingers itch, his tongue burns with thirst, his entire body feels tense and heated up with wanting. 

Jared's other hand roams over his body, his hips arching into the touch of his hands, and Jensen barely stifles a moan as Jared tweaks one of his nipples and gasps with pleasure. Jensen can tell that Jared's close, he's moving faster now, more urgently, and the expression on his face has changed from aroused to desperate, wanting, straining for pleasure. Jensen can nearly feel it in his bones when orgasm finally vibrates through Jared, shaking him, making him tremble and gasp, and Jensen wants to encapsulate every moment, every expression on Jared's face, every gasp and sound and quiver to replay forever in his mind.

In the sudden quiet of the room, Jensen's breathing is almost as loud as a gunshot, and Jensen freezes when he realizes Jared's eyes are open, and he's looking directly at him. For a moment, Jensen hopes against logic that Jared can't see him, that Jared's too sleep- mussed to recognise that Jensen's really here, but then Jared says, „Jensen," in a sex-roughened voice that goes through Jensen like high voltage.

He can't move, can't speak as Jared gets up from the couch and stalks towards him, and Jensen's muscles tense in a ‘fight or flight' reflex, though he knows he won't be able to fight or flee when push comes to shove. He tries to prepare himself for the impact of Jared's fist, but it never comes. Instead, Jared's suddenly in Jensen's space, all 6'5'' of him towering over Jensen, an inscrutable expression in his eyes, hard-edged and turning Jensen on even more than the feel of heat radiating off Jared's body or the fact that he just smells _incredible_. Any words flee Jensen's brain as Jared just leans down, hovers between violence and something else, something Jensen doesn't even dare to think, but then there's a wall at his back and Jared's knee between his thighs, and Jared's mouth on his neck, licking away the sweat from Jensen's skin, and Jensen just melts against Jared. His shaking hands come up of their own volition and bury into Jared's hair. Jensen moans as Jared's tongue on his neck is replaced by teeth scraping over his sensitised skin, and dear God, Jared's moving his thigh against Jensen's erection, making Jensen gasp as the sensation travels from his hairline to the tips of his toes, electrifying him. 

Jared's biting and licking at Jensen's neck, and it's good, and the friction is amazing, but then Jared puts his hands on Jensen, lets his huge paws roam over Jensen's body and Jensen thinks he might just as well die now, because life can't get any better. He's wanted this so much it hurts to finally get it, and all he can think is _Don't mess with me, please, don't mess with me._

Jared looks up, the heat in his eyes barely bearable, his fingers trailing questioningly down Jensen's belly to the edge of his boxers. Yes, Jensen thinks, God, yes, anything, and Jared takes his shaky nod as all the invitation he needs, wrapping his hand around Jensen's cock and at the same time leaning forward to push his tongue past Jensen's lips. And this, right there, Jensen knows, is proof that fantasy is a bitch, because this feels so much better than he could've ever imagined. Jared's palm is rough against his cock, and he tastes just amazing, all spice and something Jensen recognises as arousal. 

Upstroke, downstroke, a thumb caressing over the head of his cock, Jared strokes Jensen the way he just stroked himself, and Jensen gives up anything even resembling control or dignity or coherent thought. Jared kills him, obliterates him, makes his entire body thrum and pulse and heat up like a furnace, and all the while he keeps kissing Jensen, kissing him like he means it, digging a hand possessively into Jensen's hip. 

Harder, faster, and Jensen's a lost cause, gone, every bone sucked out of his body, Jared's the only thing holding him up, breathing life into him. Upstroke, and god, right there. Jensen moves his hips, bucks against Jared, into Jared's fist moving faster, harder, yes, right- Jared kisses him, sloppy, bites his lips, and Jensen comes so hard he very nearly blacks out. 

Harsh breath in his ear, not only his own. Jared's pressed against him tightly, forehead on Jensen's shoulder, holding Jensen up and leaning on him at the same time. Wetness between their bodies, sweat and come, and Jensen breathes deeply, smelling sex and Jared, and that's the moment the rest of his sleep-haze falls off, and he realizes exactly what happened just now. 

He tries to move, but Jared traps him, hands on his hips, fitting like there's always been a spot kept there for them with ‘Jared' written all over it. Just like the rest of Jensen.  
Jared lifts his head, and Jensen can't look at him, doesn't want to see his eyes.

But Jared's breath ghosts over his face, ever so softly. “Jensen, look at me."

And the bitch is, Jensen can't say no to Jared. Not ever and certainly not now. So he looks up, and the warmth he sees in Jared's eyes eases a bit of his panic. 

There aren't any words, Jensen realizes. His head is swimming, his heart is somewhere on the floor, and his brain is splattered against the wall. The world is upside down, and he's so confused right now that he can't entirely remember what language he's supposed to speak, let alone words and sentences.

Jared just looks at him, and Jensen slowly realizes that Jared doesn't know what to say either. Jensen swallows. Tries to say something. No words come.

Jared leans in and brushes a kiss against Jensen's mouth, just a soft touch of lips and breath, and Jensen thinks he might actually liquefy. “It's ok. We'll talk about it in the morning." He runs a caressing hand through Jensen's hair, then lets go of him, smiling warmly. 

Jensen can only nod and let Jared lead him back to bed, let Jared kiss him again, warm and deep, and then Jared's gone, and Jensen's not sure he's solid anymore, and in between all of it he remembers that he didn't mention his 11.30 to Los Angeles, but he falls asleep, before he can worry about it, the ghost sensation of Jared's lips still tingling against his own.

*-*

Surreal, Jensen thinks, brushing his teeth and looking at himself in the bathroom mirror. Entirely surreal. He doesn’t look like he thinks he ought to look. Somehow more… fucked up? Because that’s how he feels. Fucked up, messed with, uncertain, awkward in his own skin, unable to think through a thought and perform any linear action, like packing. It’s taken him an hour and a half to pack his carry-on – most of the stuff he’s been using and wearing here is Jared’s – and he had to stop every two minutes to ask himself whether last night actually happened, or whether he just had the world’s best and most explicit sex dream. 

So, Jensen, he asks himself, looks sternly at himself in the mirror, have you lost it?  
He closes his eyes. Feels big, strong, warm hands on his skin, sliding under the waistband of his boxers. Smells Jared, sweat and beer and sex. Hears Jared say his name in a voice all sex-rough and slow as molasses. Tastes Jared, his sweat, his tongue, his mouth. He feels himself flush, his cock half-hard from memory, and Jensen opens his eyes. 

Not so much with the crazy. More with the one bitch of a weird situation. Because he can’t just take what happened last night at face value. The expression in Jared’s eyes, the way he kissed Jensen. It doesn’t necessarily have to mean anything at all. Last night, everything was hazy with sleep and a drugged-up arousal that felt a lot like being drunk. Now, it’s morning, and things have a tendency to look harsher in daylight. Mornings are consequences, as Jensen knows all too well after a few misguided one-night-stands. 

He needs to ground himself firmly in reality, before he goes to face the music of rattling plates and gurgling coffee pot he can hear from the kitchen. Breakfast, and Jared, who’s probably not feeling any better about last night than Jensen does. Probably worse, given that Jared’s a) straight, b) has a girlfriend, but in all fairness didn’t c) get his heart screwed with. 

Not that Jensen is angry per se. Better to have loved and lost, and all that. But he’s very seriously confused right now. Not so much by Jared’s hand down his pants. He’s a guy; going from zero to sex is pretty much standard operating procedure. It was the look in Jared’s eyes that got to him, that heated, wanting stare. The way Jared said his name, normally already a turn-on. Jared has this way of saying Jensen’s name, all careful not to swallow the second ‘e’, because Jensen told him once how it’s pronounced, and Jared’s got it right every time ever since. The way he sometimes lingers over Jensen’s name like it’s just a word he really likes to say. It makes Jensen want to jump him just about every time Jared says his name, but last night it almost made him come. It’s a feeling he could get used to; on second thought, it’s a feeling he could very well get addicted to.

But what to do now. Jensen’s not sure just how obvious he was last night, how wide open, how apparent it was how long he’s wanted this, how much. He guesses he’ll know, though, the moment he sees Jared, sees his eyes. He only hopes that Jared will pick the ‘let’s pretend we were drunk and it never happened’ road, because if Jared goes for letting Jensen down gently and being all sorry and touchy-feely, then Jensen may actually have to murder him. 

Jensen checks his watch. His plane leaves in three hours.

*-*

He can smell the pancakes and bacon when he steps out of his room, fully dressed with his carry-on in tow. Jared’s cooking. Jensen smiles sardonically at himself. Maybe he should prepare himself to have his heart broken. Or his jaw.

Well, no time like the present to get the ‘uncomfortable morning after best friend stuck hand down his pants moment over with. 

He enters the kitchen and swallows around the sudden knot in his throat, already slightly nauseous from the strong food-smell. Jared looks- well, amazing. Miles tall, long legs, strong arms and glowing, suntanned skin. He’s wearing shorts and a baggy wifebeater, and Jensen can see sweat gleaming on his skin. There’s a small wrinkle over his nose, worry or concentration or both, and he’s looking at the pancakes as if they’re the Delphi oracle. 

“Mornin’,” Jensen says, cursing his voice for sounding rough and scrapy.

Jared looks up and gives him a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Morning. Was wondering when you’d get up.”

Jensen just nods, sits down by the counter that separates the kitchen from the living room. He doesn’t quite know what to do with his hands, other than fantasising about burying them in the fabric of that wifebeater, brushing against Jared’s sweat-damp skin underneath. Instead, he folds them around the cup of coffee Jared puts in front of him, staring intently at the black liquid. 

There’s a pause that’s more than a little uncomfortable, and Jared kind of hovers on the other side of the counter, hand poised mid-air where he just deposited Jensen’s coffee, as if he doesn’t quite know what to do with it yet. Jensen has no idea what to say. 

He’s startled by a small huff of laughter from Jared. Jensen looks up and finds Jared amusedly staring at his hovering hand, then bringing it up to run it through his hair. He smiles at Jensen, more genuine now. “And would you like a side of bacon with your awkward?”

Jensen can’t help but laugh. “Don’t forget the orange juice.”

Jared grins, and Jensen’s stomach stops twisting. “Way ahead of … what’s that?” Jared’s smile is gone and he’s pointing at Jensen’s carry-on. “You going somewhere?”

Jensen tries not to squirm under Jared’s scrutiny. “Los Angeles. My plane leaves at 11.30.”

Jared blinks slowly, obviously confused. “Did I know that?”

Shaking his head no, Jensen points at the carry-on. “Was just about to tell you.”

And just like that, Jensen can see Jared connect the dots and his eyes go dull. “Oh. I…” he turns away and runs a hand through his hair in an awkward, uncertain gesture. “Jensen, I’m sorry about last night. I got the wrong idea. It was… I thought… God, I can’t believe I fucked this up.” His voice sounds like his throat’s been ripped open, and it seems to take him some effort to meet Jensen’s eyes, and when he does, Jensen can’t even blink through the mixed bag of emotions he sees there. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again, I promise. I was just… can’t we just chalk this up to me being an enormous idiot?” 

For a moment, Jensen’s too stunned for words. But of course it makes sense for Jared to draw the - wrong – conclusion, that Jensen’s leaving because of what happened last night. And here, now, Jared’s offered him the perfect exit strategy. Play it cool, say ‘Yeah, sure, don’t worry about it’. Smile, hug, get the hell out of here with a friendship intact and one perfect memory to serve him until he gets over Jared. Be a coward and live with the knowledge that if he’d had the balls, he might have had more than one perfect moment. 

Fuck that, Jensen thinks and resolutely sets down his coffee cup, stalks around the counter and does what he should’ve done days, weeks, months ago, he grabs chance by the balls and squeezes. Or more precisely, he fists his hands in Jared’s wifebeater and pulls him down, swallowing Jared’s startled sound with his lips. 

It takes Jared about .2 seconds to catch on, then he’s got Jensen backed up against the kitchen counter and kisses him for all he’s worth, and something in Jensen’s gut quietly explodes. Last night was amazing in a sleep-drugged, hazy way, all heat and messy, but this, now… Jared pushing against him, slowly sliding his tongue into Jensen’s mouth, deliberate, wide awake and aware… this is bone-melting, head-spinning, this is Christmas and Easter and getting everything he ever wanted offered on a plate. It’s a step off a cliff, it’s parachuting off the point of no return. Jensen’s head is spinning ever so lightly with exhilaration, he feels his entire body waking up, over-sensitised to every inch of him touching Jared.

He pushes Jared’s wifebeater up to get to more of Jared’s skin, and pulls Jared down further, tongue stroking into Jared’s mouth. Jared tastes like coffee and pancakes, and Jensen knows that for the rest of his life, the combination will make him think of this kiss, of standing in Jared’s sun-flooded kitchen, feeling the countertop dig into his back, one of Jared’s hands on his hip, pressing Jensen closer possessively, the other one on the back of his neck, holding Jensen’s head still for deep, sensual, breath-stealing kisses. 

Jared moans softly against his lips, and Jensen pulls back slightly, but Jared follows, keeps kissing Jensen until they’re both breathless, panting. “Got a plane to catch,” Jensen manages between kisses, barely brings the words out before Jared’s lips cover his.

“Take the next one,” Jared whispers against his lips, all breath and warmth, and Jensen pulls him closer, hands greedily running over Jared’s body, his sides, his hips, squeezing his ass. Jared moans, and Jensen thinks it’s high time for some initiative. He grabs Jared, one hand on his wifebeater, the other on his hip, and pulls him towards the living room. Jared goes with him easily, eagerly, his huge hands grabbing at Jensen’s hips.

Jensen doesn’t stop until Jared’s thighs hit the couch, and he thinks Jared’s soft laugh as Jensen pushes him down is probably one of the most arousing sounds he’s ever heard. He pulls back from Jared’s hands fisting in his shirt for a second to admire the view, Jared’s kiss-swollen lips, his messy hair, his sex-smoky smirk, the twinkle in his eyes, his wifebeater pushed up to reveal his stomach. Jensen leans down, presses his lips to Jared’s navel, licks over his skin down to his hipbone, and feels Jared’s belly hitch with an all-body shudder. This is first-rate fantasy fulfilment, Jensen thinks, because hell if Jared doesn’t taste and smell much better than Jensen could have even imagined. He can smell the musky scent of Jared’s arousal; can see Jared’s cock strain against the confines of his shorts, and damned if that doesn’t give Jensen ideas. 

Ignoring the way Jared pulls at his clothes, Jensen noses down Jared’s lucky trail, mouths his cock through his shorts, and the gasp that escapes Jared goes directly into Jensen’s cock, makes him ache with arousal down to his toes. Jesus. He looks up at Jared and for a second, he feels entirely bizarre, mind and body separating into a spacey ‘this can’t actually be happening, right?’ feeling, but then Jared pulls on his hair, and says in this raspy, turned-on sex-voice of his, “Jensen, I swear to god, if you change your mind now, you won’t need to catch that plane, ‘cause I’ll kick your ass to LA –“ and Jensen’s right back in the here and now. Without further ceremony, he pulls down Jared’s shorts. Another shiver runs down his spine when he realizes that Jared isn’t wearing any underwear. 

But even that thought sizzles out into pure heat when Jared bucks his hips against Jensen’s firm grip, ever so lightly, an invitation more than a demand, and Jensen’s mouth waters. He leans down and mouths Jared’s cock, and Jared moans, deep in his throat, his head falling back against the couch. Without taking his eyes off Jared’s face, Jensen licks down Jared’s cock, then takes the head into his mouth. Jared groans, shudders, bites and licks his lips, an abandoned, blank of all thought but pleasure look on his face. Jensen realizes now that when he thought watching Jared touch himself was hot, he had no idea, because this, here, Jared looking and sounding and feeling this way because of _him_ , this is brain-melting. 

Jensen stops thinking about anything; instinct takes over, routing every one of Jared’s moans, every one of his pants, smiles, every half-gasp of Jensen’s name, directly into Jensen’s nervous system, sets his entire body alight, until every millimetre of Jensen’s skin prickles with the feeling, the knowledge of actually being wanted, desired. Jensen’s entire awareness narrows down to this moment, this thrumming, pulsing current of pleasure, Jared’s cock hot, heavy in his mouth, against his tongue, Jared’s hands fisting helplessly in his shirt, Jensen’s own erection straining against his jeans. Jared’s squirming and helpless, putty in his hands to do with as he pleases, stretched out in front of him, an all-you-can-eat buffet, and Jensen helps himself. 

He licks, teases, scrapes teeth over taut flesh, tastes, smells, fills his senses with Jared, and Jared just goes quietly crazy for him. Jensen feels him press forward to meet Jensen’s every move, shudder against Jensen’s palms on his stomach, all tension and want and quietly begging for more, now, in a husky, raw, open voice Jensen barely recognizes. There’s something in Jared’s eyes that goes beyond want, though, something that’s both ferocious and tender, possessive, lying in waiting to jump at Jensen, devour him, greedy. It makes Jensen’s mouth go dry, makes him suck harder, dig his fingers into Jared’s hips more strongly, and Jared moans, a strangled plea to stop teasing. 

Jensen lets go of Jared’s hips, and everything else falls away except the urgency, the heat of need, of Jared’s need to come, Jensen’s need to make him, to see him, to feel him come. Jensen works his tongue and mouth around Jared’s cock urgently now, hard, fast, no more teasing, no more waiting and stalling, he wants, and wants now. Jared’s hips move with him, Jared’s hands fist in his hair, his shirt, head thrown back, face strained with pleasure, and Jared fucking his mouth like this, desperate, abandoned, is uncomfortable as hell but hot enough to burn him up, to make his stomach curl and his cock pulse.

Jared’s voice is no more than a broken whisper. “Jensen, gonna…”

Jensen holds Jared’s hips still and sucks him down as far as he can go, pushes a hand between Jared’s legs to play with his balls, and that’s all it takes, Jared comes with a strangled moan that makes Jensen almost cream his pants. Drawing back, Jensen tries to catch his breath, but can’t, really because Jared hauls him forward, makes him crash into Jared’s wide chest. Jared’s tongue is in his mouth before he can even so much as moan, and Jared’s hand’s down his pants in no time flat. Electricity just shoots through Jensen’s body like fire, and Jared’s teeth bury in his neck, mark him up for all to see. It’s hot enough for Jensen to come almost immediately, hard, to his complete embarrassment.

Jared’s laughter is more breath than sound against his sweaty skin. Jensen buries his head in the crook of Jared’s throat, and how is it that one single male person can smell this good, anyway? Jared smells like coffee and bacon, like sun on his skin, pancakes and sex, and Jensen thinks he might want to bottle this smell up and take it with him wherever he goes.

It’s then that it occurs to him just how wide open he’s cracked himself here, just how badly this could end for everyone involved.

But strangely enough, he can’t muster anything but quite contentment. Jared’s fingers have snuck under his shirt, paint lazy circles over his spine. Jensen lifts his head, finds Jared gazing thoughtfully at him. Jensen leans up for a kiss, but Jared lays a finger over his lips. 

“I know this is gonna sound pretty stupid after what happened right now,” he says, all quiet, and Jensen sits up, sobers up, would have moved away were it not for Jared’s hand on the small of his back, digging into his skin possessively. 

Jared just looks at him for a moment, then continues, “Before we take this any further, there’s some stuff I need to take care of.”

For a moment, Jensen is at a loss for words. Then Jared’s smile breaks through him like summer sun through storm clouds, warmth promising heat. And Jensen realizes that this is Jared, this is the Texas in both of them, sunkissed, lazy days, and hot, sticky nights, and this giant boy of a man who always seems to know what Jensen wants and gives it to him without having to be asked. 

And suddenly Jensen knows what this is. This is San Antonio and Jared and a perfect Texas summer. This is a beginning.


End file.
